


Pax Vobiscum

by jeweldancer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Death of parent, F/M, Food, Historical AU, Homelessness, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, Protective Benny Lafitte, Psychological Trauma, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweldancer/pseuds/jeweldancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time long ago, Dean Winchester is living the hellish life of a slave. He has no hope of rescue, but he has a reason to keep fighting, one that no one else knows. After an ill-advised attempt at escape, Dean is near death. Against all odds, he is taken in by people who will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that's been living in my mind for some time. I've never written a historical AU before, and as this one is set in a fictional country, do not expect great historical accuracy. This is a fantasy in all respects. 
> 
> This story starts rather violently, but the extreme violence will not continue throughout. This is a story about different characters overcoming terrible odds, and managing to thrive in spite of them.
> 
> I wanted to have a Latin title--I had just seen a Latin translation of "carry on, my wayward son"--and I stumbled upon pax vobiscum. It means "peace be with you", and it seemed suitable for what I wanted for my characters. I hope I used it correctly.
> 
> This is really different than anything I've ever written, and I'm pretty nervous about posting it, so if you like it, please let me know! If it doesn't get much of a response, I may not continue it.

Coherent thoughts had left him. All he had were fleeting, random impressions; one of his senses breaking through into his consciousness. The coppery taste of blood, the burning hot sun on his back, the foul smell of the alleyway, a mocking voice. Sight had been gone for some time now; after so much sweat and blood had run into his eyes, it had seemed easier to close them. It gave him some distance from what was happening to him. 

A well-placed kick to his back jolted him back to reality. His eyes snapped open and the pain returned full force. The little man responsible for all of this leaned down, an ugly sneer on his face. 

"Wake up, my lovely. I don't want you to miss what's next."

The other men roared with laughter. Yesterday, Dean had escaped and tasted freedom for a few hours before these men had tracked him down. He had managed to injure two of their compatriots, and so they were intent on revenge. This morning he had been dragged outdoors and struck several times on the face and ears for sport. They had dared not do more before Crowley came, so they had made him face a pole and tied his arms in front of him. Wrists together, elbows together. It made his face press against the pole, and as his wounds dried, they kept sticking to the wooden surface. 

He remained there, half standing and half hanging, until Crowley decided to grace them with his presence. That was when they had started beating him with the whips.

Dean lifted his eyes to look along the street, a flash of blue catching his attention. A woman in a long blue dress, accompanied by two men. Bodyguards, no doubt. A noblewoman. He stared at her, pleading internally with the last bit of strength in his body. Look. Look at me. Help me. 

There was no reason to think that she would, but it was his last chance, and he had promised himself he'd fight to the end. 

She slowed, looking about in the way that one does when sensing another's gaze. And she turned her head, and looked him in the eye. 

There was no reason to hope. 

She hesitated only briefly, and changed course, running down the alleyway toward him. The men with her followed, looks of alarm on their faces.

"My lady!" The taller bodyguard shouted with a long-suffering air.

She stopped in front of the small mob, indignant and self-righteous as an avenging angel. The men drew back slightly, and even their leader faltered. "Mr. Crowley!" she growled. "What is this? Breaking the law, and right in public?"

"My lady, this is none of your concern. This one tried to escape, and injured two of my men while being recovered. Punishment is warranted."

"Punishment of this type is illegal. You know this. The prince passed this law last year, and beating slaves is no longer allowed." She narrowed her eyes. "My cousin will be displeased to hear that you have so casually disregarded his decree."

Crowley bowed slightly to the woman, and Dean noted no small amount of fear in his eyes. "My lady. If this behavior is tolerated, the rest of the slaves will get ideas. More of them will try to run, and more of my men may be harmed in the recovery efforts. A man must make a living."

"You could try earning an honest living, for once."

The man's eyes flashed. "An honest living, you say? Well, my lady, I'm certain a member of the royal family must know all about hard work and an honest living." His face spread in a grim smile. "But by all means, the law must be upheld. Go now and fetch your cousin's men, and when you return we will settle the matter."

Everyone present knew that by the time the prince's men arrived, the slave in question would be dead at the bottom of the harbor. The woman looked into Dean's eyes again, and faced Crowley.

"I wish to purchase this slave."

Crowley laughed in delight. "This one? My lady, a fine choice. Two hundred shall make you his owner."

Two hundred was the price for a healthy, strong slave. The amount was out of the question for one so broken as he was. He waited for her to start the customary bargaining process. Instead, she nodded.

"Benjamin, pay the man. Henry, make haste to the market and bring back our carriage." She glared again at Crowley. "Don't think you have heard the last of this."

He bowed in mock deference. "It has been a pleasure to do business with you, my lady." He and his men withdrew more quickly than they normally would have. Dean thought that this woman must indeed be powerful for Crowley to fear her.

The lady sank to her knees next to him, and he was startled to see her pull a sizable knife from her belt. Did she intend to put him out of his misery? Even if so, it would be a better end than what he otherwise would have endured. He closed his eyes. 

She took hold of the ropes binding his arms and sliced through them quickly. He sank back on his heels, dazed and weak. The lady took his shoulders and eased him down until his head was lying in her lap. 

God in heaven, his sweat and blood and tears would stain her fine dress. He looked up at her, stunned.

"Benny. He must have water."

The tall man handed her a water-skin, and she brought it to Dean's lips. In desperation, he gulped several sips of cool water, savoring the taste on his tongue. When the water hit the back of his throat, he coughed with such force that it spewed onto the lady's skirt.

Now she had his spit on her as well. Dean winced, waiting for the blow that would surely come. But her hands did not strike him. Instead, she stroked his cheek gently.

"You must take very small sips, my dear. That was too much at once." She helped him take five tiny swallows of water, then made him rest a moment. He had never tasted anything so sweet as that water. The lady poured a larger amount on her hand, and bathed his feverish forehead. 

He was dead. That was the only reasonable explanation. He had died at the hands of Crowley's men, and these people were angels of the Lord, come to bear him to heaven. It was the only way that someone would be kind to him. Brother Thomas's sermons had been accurate after all. 

"Don't go to sleep. Open your eyes. What's your name?"

"Thought you'd know. Already. S'pose even angels don't know the names of slaves."

"Angel? Don't be foolish. How would I know your name already?"

"Dean. S' my name."

"Stay awake for me, please, Dean. Henry will be back with the carriage at any moment."

"Chariot to heaven. Saw a painting like that in a church."

The angel frowned. "We're not taking you to heaven, Dean."

"Hell, then. Not that surprised."

"Stop saying such things. You're not dead."

The man called Benny knelt next to them. "The carriage is here, my lady. I'll lift him inside."

"Do you need help carrying him?"

Benny, who was surely at least a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the woman, smiled indulgently at her. "No, my lady. He's so thin it will be no trouble." He carried Dean easily to the carriage and laid him on a blanket. 

Instead of sitting on one of the fine velvet seats, she knelt on the floor next to Dean. Benny crouched in the corner, ever watchful. Dean realized that the man would die for her without hesitation. He recognized that look; he had felt that way about someone once.

The carriage lurched into motion, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "We'll have you home soon, Dean. Well, to my house, that is. We'll have you cleaned up and comfortable as quickly as we can."

Dean stared at her face. She was plain, but pleasant looking, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Her hands were cradling Dean's head, so that he would be spared the rattling of the carriage.

"What. What's your name. My angel."

She laughed, not the affected, silly laugh he'd heard from most noblewomen, but one with real humor. "You insult the angels, sir, to name me one. But you may call me Cecilia."

Dean regarded himself, and noted with detachment the amount of blood on his tunic. He had seen the brothers at the monastery care for the injured, but he could not remember if he had seen anyone lose so much blood and yet live. Especially in such a weakened state as he was. 

But he was still better off than before, and it occurred to Dean to tell her before he passed. "My thanks, lady. For a place to die in peace."

"You will not die, sir." But her face grew pale, and she murmured to Benny. "Tell Henry to drive faster."

The rocking of the carriage increased such that Dean began to think that alone would be his death. Every vibration shot waves of pain through his body. After an intermitable number of minutes, they passed through a gate and halted. Cecilia sprang to her feet and began barking orders at the people who came to meet the carriage. 

"We must take him to my chambers immediately. Yes, mine. All my things are there. Send for Dr. Rosso immediately. Tell him I have a badly injured guest."

A makeshift litter was produced, and Dean was transferred to it and quickly borne away. He was nearly blinded by the sunlight, but it seemed that these people were practiced at such things. Did this woman commonly bring home the injured and ill? Would her family not object to it?

They carried him into the front hall, and Dean was astonished. She had brought him to a palace. The hallway was lined with portraits of long-dead nobility and tapestries of biblical scenes. Each piece of furniture casually scattered about the edges would have taken a master craftsman many hours to produce.

The procession passed through a doorway into another part of the house, and instantly Dean was relieved. These rooms were bright and comfortable, and were decorated modestly. They felt like home, though Dean had not had a home to speak of for some time.

A tall, brown-eyed woman waited for them there, and she immediately began arranging blankets. "Here. Put him here. Good Lord in Heaven, Cecilia, what have you brought us this time?" 

"One of Crowley's." 

"The bastard. How did you manage to talk Crowley into giving him to you? Or did you steal him?"

Cecilia looked away, and mumbled. "Paid for him."

The other woman snorted. "Cecilia, you are the softest-hearted..."

"He was near to death, Lenora! How could I not?"

"I wasn't saying that soft-heartedness was a bad thing. Now, let's make him comfortable here."

"He'll have to lie on his side. His back is sliced to ribbons, he can't put weight on it."

"Oh, dear God." Lenora rounded on the other two women loitering in the doorway. "Get moving! We need water, and bandages, and...everything!" They scurried.

"Lenora, do we have any ginger water? He's been in the hot sun for a long time. We have to get something in his stomach."

Cecilia carefully positioned Dean on his least injured side, and then everything was blissfully still, and there was no more excruciating pressure on his back. Everything still hurt horribly, and he was slightly nauseous from the carriage ride, but he thought he might be able to stand it now.

She knelt next to him. "Try to drink some of this. It will ease your stomach. You can keep this down better than plain water." She slid a hand gently under his neck, supporting him while she helped him drink. The liquid tasted slightly spicy, but she was right. He didn't feel ill, and after a few minutes his head felt a little clearer.

Lenora returned from the kitchen with a cup, steam rising from the top. "Thank you, Len. Dean? This tea will make you drowsy. You don't have to drink it, but it will ease your pain a bit. We must get your wounds clean as soon as possible, and it will hurt less if you drink it."

Dean considered. He loathed the idea of not being in control of what was happening to him. He had been a free man once and had never accepted his fate as a slave. He did not know if these people intended to do him ill, but if they did, he was too weak to fight back. He nodded. 

Cecilia helped him sip the tea as she had the water, murmuring encouragement. "It tastes a little bitter, I know. Just a bit more. You've almost finished." She eased his head back down onto the soft blankets, and began stroking his hair softly. 

Dean's thoughts were hazy, and becoming more so. He did not understand why this woman was touching him gently. Gentleness was not something that happened to him. He had not been touched with such kindness by another's hands since his mother had died, so many years ago. 

"Isn't right. Not me."

She continued petting him. "What isn't right, love?"

But Dean was too disoriented to reply. He could hear her voice, but as if from very far away. The pain was not gone, but it had also retreated to a safer distance. He breathed deeply, enjoying the relief. His eyes closed, and he slept.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is still weakened from his near-death experience, and he is confused at the kindness from the people at his new home. Cecilia tries to comfort him, and they both learn a little about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for waiting so long to post the second chapter! I haven't been feeling well, so I've been saving my strength for work and I haven't written much. I'm not as satisfied with this chapter, but at least I've gotten in the groove of the story again. It won't be very long before another chapter.
> 
> This story hasn't gotten a great deal of attention, but I noticed that more people have subscribed to it than anything else I've written. So...I guess those of you who do like it, like it a lot? I hope you continue to enjoy it. I'm going to shamelessly ask for comments here, because this is so different than other stories I've written. If you like it, let me know!

Dean stirred a bit as he felt his clothes being removed. He thought that this should bother him, but he was too tired. 

"He's burning up, Lenora."

He was being lifted, carried, then lowered into a tub of barely lukewarm water. Maybe they were going to drown him. He'd seen worse things happen.

He must have spoken aloud, because Cecilia ran a soothing hand over his hair. "Lenora and I won't let you drown, dear. We'll be very careful."

There were two pairs of soft hands washing him. His head was tipped back into the water, hands supporting him so that he wouldn't fall, and they washed the blood out of his hair. After that he relaxed more. He did not think the hands had gone to such trouble to keep him safe only to hurt him now. 

Lenora cleaned the wounds on his face, making him whimper slightly. 

"Hurts."

"I'm so sorry, love. We must get your wounds clean, though, so they won't become infected."

Then they sat him up, and had him lean forward a bit, resting his head on Cecilia's shoulder. 

"Getting your dress wet."

"It doesn't matter. Listen, Dean, we're going to clean your back now, and this will hurt. Be brave for me, and Lenora will finish as quickly as she can."

Cecilia held him there, and put one hand on his head, and the other on the back of his neck. She rocked him gently, and whispered to him. 

Lenora started to work on his back, and it burned like fire. Dean made a choked noise and a tear ran down his face.

"Hush now, my love. I'm so sorry. You'll be comfortable again soon. You're doing so well."

"Good Lord in heaven, Cecilia. This poor boy. They have beaten him within an inch of his life." 

"Shh. You're going to be fine, Dean. Soon we'll have you in a comfortable bed, with cool sheets, and we'll bring you something to eat. And then you can sleep."

"You. Will you stay?"

"Of course. If you like."

"You won't let them hurt me?" Dean felt like a child, asking foolish questions, but he was so sleepy, and he had to know.

"No, dear. You're quite safe here. No one will lay a hand on you, I promise."

"Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You will be well-protected while you sleep. Do not worry." 

Someone strong lifted him from the bath, and onto soft linens to be dried. He could not remember the last time he'd been so clean. 

"All right. Now we must bandage your back, and then you may rest."

Cecilia spread ointment onto his back with a feather-light touch, and bandages were wound around and around him until all the wounds were covered.

Dean blinked. "Feels better."

"That's good. Can you drink some water, love? It would be good for you."

"Mmm."

He managed several sips, then Cecilia took pity on him, and called for Benny to lift him again. "He must rest now, he can't stand any more. Put him in my bed, please."

Benny looked disapproving.

"Hush. He must be comfortable, and it's cool in this room, and the kitchen is just down the hall. Do as I say."

Dean hadn't known there were beds so soft. He was floating on a cloud. Cecilia positioned him carefully on his side, again, and gave him a pillow to lean on. 

"I have some broth here, Dean. Can you eat a little of it?"

The broth smelled heavenly, and his stomach growled. She fed him spoonfuls of it until he had trouble keeping his eyes open.

"All right, love. Sleep now. I'll be right here when you wake up. You're safe."

"Mmm. Thank you."

"Shh. Close your eyes and rest." Cecilia hummed to him and stroked his hair.

When Dean opened his eyes, the room was dimly lit, but he couldn't tell if it was dusk or dawn. Cecilia was draped over a chaise near the bed, her face peaceful. He was stiff from lying in the same position for so long, and he tried to raise himself up and roll over to his other side.

Dear God, everything hurt so much. Dean made a hissing noise and sank back down on the bed. Of course, he woke Cecilia.

"Wait a moment. I'll help you." She was unexpectedly strong, and soon he was on his other side, and more comfortable. She settled herself on the other side of the bed, her dark blue dressing gown swirling around her. Cecilia didn't immediately ask how he was, and Dean was grateful. He needed to get his bearings first.

"What time is it, my lady?"

"Sunrise. You've been asleep about sixteen hours. And call me Cecilia, please. I can't stop Benny from calling me lady, but hardly anyone else does. Not anyone I like, at any rate."

"How can you know if you like me yet?"

"Oh. It's a talent of mine. I can always tell immediately what type of person someone is."

"Have you ever been wrong?"

"Yes. Once." Her expression became guarded for a moment, but her features soon relaxed again. She rose to her feet. "It's a bit early for breakfast, but I think you should have something in your stomach. I'll be back soon."

While she was gone, Lenora came in and tended to him for a few minutes. Dean had never had the attention of one person for so long at a time, much less multiple people. He couldn't figure out what their purpose was in caring for him, and it worried him a bit. The anxious thoughts fled, however, when Cecilia returned holding a tray. The contents smelled so good that Dean could hardly stand it. He felt as if the sides of his stomach were scraping together.

"It's not much, Dean, but I don't think you could handle any rich food right now. It's just porridge and some fresh bread."

She fed him, again, and Dean was a little embarrassed but appreciative. His arms were so sore and weak that he did not think he could have fed himself. The porridge, which she had spoken of a bit disdainfully, was much better than his usual diet. The bread was warm and soft, and spread with a little butter. Dean had only ever had hard, cold, stale rye bread. "This is the best food I've ever eaten. I've never had bread like that before."

"I'll be sure and tell Katherine. She prides herself on her breadmaking. I would venture to say she's the best in the city."

Dean was confused. Why would a noblewoman speak so warmly about the person who made her bread? "Is Katherine your cook?"

"She is. She's been here with us for a number of years."

"Why do you speak of her like she is a friend?"

Cecilia looked surprised. "Because she is. She's absolutely invaluable to running this household, and a lovely person as well." She looked down at the floor for a moment, then smiled bravely. "She has been here since before my parents passed."

Dean felt his chest tighten. She had also lost her parents at a young age; that was probably why she spoke so warmly of this Katherine. She'd probably helped care for Cecilia after the death of her parents. "My mother died when I was very young," Dean whispered.

She patted his hand. "I'm sorry." Dean had heard that phrase so many times that it had ceased to have real meaning, but the compassion in Cecilia's eyes showed that she truly sympathized. She took a deep breath. "Your father...did he..."

"He may be dead now, for all I know. After my mother died, he took to drinking. And one day he left." Dean stared down at the floor. He did not care, he told himself for the thousandth time. He did not care. He had never needed the man. 

She seemed to sense that Dean had left something unspoken, and after an uncomfortable moment changed the subject. "Dr. Rosso came to see you while you slept. As your back was already bandaged, he thought it best to let you sleep. He said you were in shock, and he didn't think your body could take much more without rest."

Dean was startled. "Why did you call a doctor for me?"

"Pardon me? Because you are hurt. He'll be coming today, as well. We need to see what can be done for your back."

"I don't understand. I'm a slave. I don't know why you are even helping me yourself, much less calling a doctor for me. People don't do that for their slaves. If a slave is badly hurt, they just..." Dean swallowed hard. He didn't want to die; he had one good reason to keep living, but that was the way life was. He couldn't fathom what this woman was doing. With the cost of a doctor's care, she could buy more slaves for labor or housework. It made no sense to save him.

"Dean, shh. I need to tell you something about that. You aren't a slave anymore. I know I had to purchase you as one, but there was no alternative. If you hadn't been rescued right then, you would have died. I did what was necessary to save you, but I don't believe in slavery. I believe it is impossible for one person to own another. Thus, you are as free as anyone. There are no slaves on my estate."

Dean kept his face a careful blank. Was Cecilia taunting him? Did she want to make him have hope again, only to dash it? He couldn't stand that. He'd lost hope too many times. "I don't understand. Why would you say such a thing to me? You don't mean it."

"I do, actually." She leaned over and gently touched his face. "It's all true. You can ask anyone here--Lenora or Benny or any of the others on the grounds. There are no slaves here, and I won't have any. People are people."

"And so if I decide to leave this place? What then?" Dean challenged her.

"When you are well, Dean, if you decide to leave, then you may. No one will stand in your way. However, if you would like to stay, you'll be welcome. We will find you a comfortable room to sleep in, and something useful to do. And you will, of course, be paid for your work. As well as have plenty to eat."

It had been so long since Dean had enough to eat, that promise of food alone would have tempted him. The thought of a room all his own was beyond imagining. With those two things, he thought he could be happy forever. Dean could not wrap his mind around receiving money for work. He must have heard her wrong.

"So everyone here..."

"Everyone gets paid, yes. And a day off every week. Mind you, it's almost impossible to get Benny and Lenora to take their days."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "You must be very wealthy, to be able to pay all these people. I have never heard of such a thing."

Cecilia laughed. "Yes, many people thought I was insane. But my estate is self-sufficient. Our harvests are generally good, and we have usually have enough to support ourselves and sell the extra."

Dean brightened a little. "I worked in the fields and gardens of a monastery when I was younger. I learned much about growing things." 

"A monastery?" 

"I have not been a slave forever, ma'am. Only a little more than a year." A thought that Dean had tried very hard to keep in the depths of his mind surfaced, and he nearly gasped with the pain of it. 

Cecilia quickly touched his shoulder. "Are you hurting, Dean? I am sorry. I have talked too long and tired you."

"That's not it, I..." Dean stopped himself. He did not yet know if he could trust this woman; he needed to be careful. He forced a smile. "I suppose I am tired. I don't know why, I have not been awake very long."

"You almost died yesterday. You have the right to be tired, and I wish you to rest as much as you can. If there is anything you need to be comfortable, Dean, you must promise that you will ask me for it. It would pain me to know that you had been wanting for something I could provide."

Dean really was tiring quickly, and his thoughts were becoming jumbled. "I still don't understand. I'm useless right now. If I cannot work, I am worthless."

"Hush now. I won't hear such talk. You are far from worthless, and you do not need to think of anything right now other than healing." 

Dean's eyelids were growing heavy. "You are really a very strange woman."

She laughed with delight. "You are a good judge of character, sir." 

Dean could not fight sleep much longer, but another thought weighed on his mind. 

"My lady? Cecilia? Why did you pay what he asked for me? You could have bargained for much lower."

She considered for a moment. "Time was of the essence, Dean. Any time I wasted bargaining with Crowley made it less likely you would survive." She smoothed the blanket covering Dean. "And...how can you bargain for a man's life right in front of him? Ask for a cheaper price for a human being? I wanted you to know you were not worthless. I hate that Crowley received that money, but it was worth it to avoid more damage to you."

Dean struggled to remember her words for further consideration when his mind was more clear. "Are you going to leave?"

"No. If you want me to stay, then I'll be right here. I need to be close by anyhow, for when the doctor comes."

"Not leave."

"Don't worry. I'll stay with you. You're quite safe." Cecilia reached for his hand, and held it between hers as he drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rescued from certain death by Cecilia, Dean is becoming a little more comfortable with his new surroundings. However, he has a long road to recovery, and the medical treatment he needs to receive frightens him. Cecilia does all that she can to reassure him, but Dean suspects that she is not as invincible as she pretends to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, the story has mostly focused on Dean's physical trauma. Although he still has a long way to go before he is physically healthy, the next chapters will deal more with his emotional problems. As he trusts his new friends more, he'll tell them the real story of how he ended up here. Also, this chapter mentions Castiel. It will be several chapters in the future, but he will end up becoming a character of note in this story.
> 
> Also, I'm shamelessly going to say here how much I love comments. If you liked it, tell me! You'll be making my day.

Dean awoke without feeling the terrible hunger he was used to, which confused him until he remembered where he was. He wondered if Cecilia would give him more food today. He thought he might receive some more porridge and bread in the evening, but he didn't dare hope for it.

Instead, she had someone bring him a bowl of stew and more hot bread. There were soft vegetables and pieces of beef in a fragrant broth. Dean assumed at first that the meal was for Cecilia, and he was shocked when she brought the tray to his bedside. 

"This is one of Catherine's best dishes, in my opinion," she announced, offering a spoonful to Dean. He opened his mouth hesitantly, and let the flavors mingle on his tongue. He moaned before he could stop himself.

Cecilia only laughed. "See? I told you it was good."

"I had plenty of vegetables at the monastery--the monks let me have some of the crops I tended--but they weren't like this. And I can't remember the last time I had meat."

"I'm glad you have a good appetite. If you eat like this for another few days, you might get some color back to your face. You're still pale as a ghost." Cecilia offered him a piece of bread, spread with butter. "I don't know what she'll be making for supper yet, but I'm sure it will be good."

Dean's mouth fell open. "We're going to eat again? Tonight?"

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I give you supper?"

"No one else ever has. When I worked at the monastery, we managed two meals a day, but before and after..." The 'we' had slipped out, and he hoped she wouldn't pursue it.

Fortunately, Cecilia was not the type to pry. "Well, get used to it. We have three meals a day here. And until I can't see your ribs sticking out anymore, I'll probably bring you something before bed as well."

Dean started to protest, but decided against it. If this woman wanted to feed him four times a day, he wouldn't complain. He only hoped that he could regain some strength before she changed her mind and turned him out on the street. Even then, his situation would be vastly improved from before. 

He was able to finish all the food, and he felt almost euphoric as he lay back against the pillows. Cecilia fussed over him, smoothing the sheets, as his eyes closed once again.

It was mid-afternoon when she gently shook him awake. "Dean. Dr. Rosso is here to see you."

Dean startled awake to see a huge, dark-haired man standing behind Cecilia. His hands grasped at the blankets as he tried to pull himself up. The man reminded him of the overseer at the last estate he had been at before he was sold to Crowley. He had once had Dean whipped for falling asleep while working. He had been so exhausted, and had only sat down to rest for a moment, and the next thing he knew...

"I wasn't sleeping! I wasn't..." Dean exclaimed, before he remembered where he was. He was with Cecilia, who was good, but he was still frightened of the man with her. He clutched the blanket to his chest and gasped for air.

"Dean. Dean, shh. This is the doctor; he won't hurt you." Cecilia sat next to him and rubbed his hands, and he was ashamed, so ashamed to be acting like a child, but he took hold of her sleeve and couldn't let go. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he looks like..." Dean couldn't continue, and Cecilia gathered him in her arms. She smelled like lavender.

"I apologize, Dean. I should have woken you before Dr. Rosso came into the room, so you would know what was happening. It's just that I am so used to him, I can't imagine anyone being frightened. He saved my life once, you know."

Dean took deep breaths until his heart was not racing as badly. "I am sorry, sir," he said, his voice shaking. "For if you have saved the lady's life, then you have saved mine as well. I would be dead if not for her."

"Many others could say the same," Dr. Rosso replied. His voice was deep and soothing, and Dean wanted to believe that it was kind.

"Many more could say that of you." Cecilia brushed off the compliment.

"I am not so sure of that." The doctor approached the bed and set his black doctor's bag on the table. "Now then, Dean. Have you been examined by a doctor before?"

"No, sir."

"I am simply going to look at you and assess your condition, and then I will remove the bandages to examine your back. That may be uncomfortable, but I will not do anything painful without warning you first. So you may be at ease."

Dean was not at ease, but he nodded, and focused all his willpower on appearing calm. He pressed his hands into the blankets so that no one would see how badly they were shaking. Cecilia pulled a chair up to the bed and rested her hand on his shoulder. Dean glanced over at her quickly, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

He could do this, he thought.

Dr. Rosso was efficient and careful, and Dean almost relaxed. "You are a lucky man, I think. And a strong one. If you do as Cecilia tells you, I think you should be out of bed within a few days. Now, I'll have a look at your back. I didn't bother unbandaging it on my previous visit, because Cecilia and Lenora are just as good at bandages as I am."

He helped Dean sit up, and began to unwind the strips of cloth. Dean heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a pained sigh.

"Dean, I'm going to have to sew up some of these wounds. I won't be able to close all of them, but if I don't do this, it will take months to heal. Also, the blood supply to some of the skin has been compromised, and that tissue will need to be debrided."

Dean looked at him blankly.

"He means that some of the skin on your back will have to be removed, because it is too damaged to recover," Cecilia told him, patting his hand. "But he can give you something to make you sleep, so it won't be so painful." 

"I don't want anything to make me sleep," Dean instantly replied. "I can stand it. Go ahead."

Dr. Rosso rolled his eyes in exasperation. "That's not a good idea. You are in a very weakened state, and while I do not doubt that you have a high tolerance for pain, it causes much stress to your body. It will lengthen your healing time, and it will be very unpleasant. There is no need to prove the strength of your constitution to us, so why not make things easier on yourself?"

That was not the reason that Dean had refused the medicine, but he was ashamed to tell this brisk, no-nonsense man that he was afraid. If he were drugged, anything might be done to him, and he would have no defense. His heart raced.

Cecilia moved to sit beside him on the bed. "Dean. Look at me, please." She waited patiently for him to collect himself enough to meet her gaze. "I swear that I won't let anything other than necessary medical treatment happen to you while you are asleep. I will not let you be hurt or endangered in any way, and I will not allow anyone else besides Lenora in the room. I promise."

Dean swallowed hard. "You...you won't leave? You'll stay right here?"

"Of course I will."

Dean nodded, and Dr. Rosso handed him a small cup. "Drink this all at once, then we will make preparations while the medicine takes effect. You may not be completely asleep, and you may feel some of the stitches being placed, but it is much better than being fully awake for the process."

Dean tipped the cup to his lips, and drained the bitter liquid. He winced at the taste, and wondered immediately if he'd made a mistake. "How long will it take? Before I go to sleep?"

"A quarter of an hour, perhaps a little longer." Dr. Rosso turned to Cecilia. "We have everything we need here, except hot water. If you please..."

"Yes, of course." She stepped out into the hall to summon Lenora.

The doctor regarded Dean solemnly. "Well, young man. What do you think of our Cecilia?"

Dean looked around before whispering, "Who is this woman? I have never..."

Dr. Rosso smiled broadly; it transformed his whole countenance. Dean could now understand why Cecilia did not fear him. "She is rather surprising, is she not? As for your question, her full title is Lady Cecilia, Duchess of Aragon. Niece to the King, cousin to Prince Castiel. He is more like a brother to her, in fact, and he is quite protective of her. Cecilia was my first patient after I came to this country, and now she is a very dear friend and ally."

Dean let these statements sink in. He had heard Crowley mention her cousin, the prince, but the memory was hazy. He had certainly not expected this. "Castiel is her cousin?" 

"Indeed. I assume you have heard of him."

"Everyone has. I came from another country as well, but even there he was quite notorious." Castiel was known as "the Warrior of God", and his army was the mightiest on the continent. His feats in battle had made him legendary, and his righteousness inspired the soldiers under his command. Dean had actually laid eyes on him once, when his army had marched near the monastery. He had climbed a tree to see the spectacle. 

"Do you know, I think having you here may be good for Cecilia. If she is caring for you, she cannot be running all over the city. She tries to accomplish too much and wears herself out. She looks rather peaked. Some rest will be the best thing for her."

Dr. Rosso quieted as they heard steps coming down the hall, and the lady in question entered with a large vessel of steaming water. "You should have had Benny carry that for you," he chastised, jumping to his feet to take it from her.

Cecilia snorted. "Benny has enough to do. I am perfectly able to carry my own water."

"I have cautioned you before about lifting heavy objects. But what do I know? I am merely the doctor."

Dean felt more at ease watching the two of them bicker. Their friendship was casual and amiable. The feeling disappeared, however, when Dr. Rosso began arranging needles and metal instruments on the bedside table. Dean tensed up and drew himself away from that side of the bed.

Cecilia noticed, and came to sit by him. "It will be all right, dear," she told him gently. "Lie on your stomach and put your head on my lap."

Dean was sedated enough to obey her without hesitation. He laid his head down and hid his face in the soft fabric of her skirt. She began stroking his hair, and a few minutes of her gentle touch was sufficient to relax him. He could still hear her speaking, but she sounded as if she were underwater. He smiled at the thought. "A mermaid," he mumbled aloud.

"I believe he's almost ready."

"Close your eyes, love. Just think about later, when this will all be over, and we can find out what Catherine has made for you to eat. And then you can sleep, safe and sound, and have good dreams. We'll take good care of you..."

Dean departed the waking world for a dreamless sleep.

"I'm almost finished."

"You did well. His back looks so much better." 

"I hope all the stitches will hold. The less he moves around for the next week or so, the better."

Dean could feel the touch of cold metal and a slight pain on his back. He whimpered very softly. 

Cecilia immediately began running her fingers through his hair again. "Shhh, I know. He's almost done. How many more, Dr. Rosso?"

The doctor grunted. "Four or five more stitches."

Dean counted the pinches he felt, gritting his teeth. One, two, three, four. Cecilia moved her hand to the back of his neck. Her touch was warm and soft and incredibly gentle. Dean focused all his attention on the movement of her hand, until he heard the clatter of instruments being deposited on a metal tray.

"Finished." Dr. Rosso began gathering up all his tools, and Lenora appeared to spirit them away. "You don't have to do that, Lenora. I'll clean them before I wash up."

She sniffed in disdain, and continued out the door. "You know you don't scrub them as well as I do, and poor Mrs. Venzi will have to do it again when you get back." Lenora obviously did as she pleased, no matter what her mistress thought, and Dean both feared and admired her for it. She was as formidable as Cecilia in her own way.

"Well, that's that." The doctor rose to his feet and picked up his black bag. "Young man, you must stay still for a few days. Do exactly as these two ladies tell you."

"Yes, sir." Dean's mouth was so dry that he could scarcely get the words out. 

"Cecilia, I regret to take my leave of you, but I must stop at the Mondello house before I go home. Can I impose on you to bandage Dean up again?"

"Of course. Is the little Mondello boy doing any better?"

"Quite a bit. I think he will recover well."

Cecilia saw Dr. Rosso to the door, then returned to Dean. She knelt on the floor and looked him in the eye. "Are you all right?"

Dean took a deep breath. "I'll be fine now."

"I'm sorry that he frightened you, Dean. And I'm sorry you have to hurt like this. But Dr. Rosso is right; it would have taken months for you to heal. Infection probably would have set in, and the scarring would have been terrible."

"I can't believe someone would go to this trouble for me. I don't understand why you care what happens to me."

"Dean. You don't have to worry about that. Concentrate on getting well; Lenora and I will take care of the rest. You're going to have to sit up for a moment now while I wrap up your back. There are still some open wounds."

"I can do it, if you help me sit up."

Cecilia applied salve to the wounds that Dr. Rosso had not been able to close, and dressed his back with strips of linen. "There, love. Now we won't have to bother you again til tomorrow evening." She took hold of Dean's shoulders and eased him down onto the bed, arranging him carefully. 

He had only had to sit up for two or three minutes, but Dean felt as though he had run for miles. He was breathing heavily and the room wavered in front of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Cecilia was talking to him in a low, soothing voice, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He wanted to tell her that he didn't feel right, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nausea overwhelmed him. 

Suddenly he felt a blessed coolness on his face and neck. Cecilia was pressing a damp cloth to his skin. "You're going to be all right, Dean. Just wait a moment. Take a deep breath for me." She placed a hand lightly on his chest, and once again he concentrated on her touch. She coaxed him through several more deep breaths, and it was like a fog clearing in his mind. Dean stared up at her, lips parted. 

"There you are." Cecilia folded the cloth and placed it on his forehead. "Lie very still, all right? You'll feel better in a moment."

"Might be sick."

"That's all right. Just let me know if you think you will." She pulled a string near the bed, which must have been attached to a bell in the hall, because Lenora came quickly. Cecilia apparently had a remedy for nausea in her stores that she was sending for. While they waited, she explained to Dean that mint relaxed the muscles of the stomach and eased indigestion. She refreshed the damp cloth in a bowl of cool water and bathed his face and neck again, and his discomfort began to ease.

After Cecilia administered her remedy, Dean slept deeply for a while. He awoke feeling better but still fragile, and his eyes searched the room to find her. She was sitting on the nearby chaise, reading. When she noticed Dean watching her, she carefully marked the page and set the book on a table.

"Do you feel any better?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not dizzy and nauseous now, just weak."

"I'm sorry you're suffering so. I would take it away if I could."

Dean found that he believed her. "I know you would, and I thank you." He reached for her hand and patted it gently, and Cecilia's face brightened. 

"Do you think you could eat something?"

"Not much. But I'll try."

"Good. I think I know just the thing." She rose and stepped softly toward the door.

"Cecilia," Dean whispered. "I don't want to trouble you." He remembered Dr. Rosso's admonitions to her about overexerting herself. He suddenly worried that she might be ill or weak in some way, and that the extra work he caused might harm her.

"The kitchen is just around the corner."

She returned with a plate containing some kind of pastry, which Dean had seen in shop windows. He had never tried it; he'd never had enough money to buy one and the monks at the monastery did not have such indulgences. She offered him a bite, and Dean felt transformed. There was sweet, spicy filling, and flaky, buttery crust; it was perfection. He couldn't speak for a moment.

"Dean? Do you like it? It's apple pie."

"My mother used to make something like that. I never thought I'd taste it again. It was my favorite thing to eat, when I was small." 

"Oh." Cecilia's voice was very quiet, and after she fed him the slice of pie, she sat on the bed next to him, and held his hand until he slept.

 

 

Note about the apple pie: While I have set this AU in a fictional country to avoid having to do research (hey, it's hard enough to find time to write the darned thing), I found myself wondering if apple pie existed during this historical period. Turns out that it did, but it was usually not sweetened. So, I'm just going to assume that Catherine, the cook, had access to some kind of sweetener since Cecilia was wealthy. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean lets his biggest secret slip after having a nightmare, but he's not ready to talk to Cecilia about it yet. Angst in the beginning, heart-to-heart talk in the middle, fluff at the end.

It was unbearable. They were dragging away the person he most loved, the one he would protect at all costs. He ran after them, stopping only when the guards knocked him to the ground and held him there, their hands bruising his arms in the struggle.

Dean tore at the covers. He needed to get up, to get away, but he couldn't even sit up. He had to get to him, he had to make sure he was all right. Hands pushed at his shoulders, trying to hold him down. They wouldn't let Dean go to him. They would take him away.

"SAM!"

Pandemonium broke out in the bedroom. The door burst open and slammed into the wall as footsteps rushed in, the bodies responsible for them invisible in the dark. The one familiar thing was Cecilia: her voice and scent and kind hands. He held onto her, gasping for air.

But as soon as he reached her, she was snatched away from him, her voice crying out in alarm. They were taking her away, too; the only person who had been kind to him, and Dean sobbed with grief. Everyone he cared about had been taken away as he stood by, helpless. He screamed again, and the activity in the room became more frantic. Finally, a candle was lit, and light flooded the scene. 

Lenora was there, her face panicked, in her dressing gown. A few others that Dean had only met in passing were gathered at the door, gawking. Benny crouched in the corner, Cecilia gathered up protectively in his arms. His first priority had been her safety, and he refused to let her go until he had checked her over throughly in the candlelight, to make sure she had not come to any harm. He finally released her, and sat back onto the floor, his face slack with relief.

"I'm all right, Benny. I promise. Everything is all right. I believe Dean was having a nightmare." Cecilia gripped Benny's hands and sat beside him.

"Thought someone had hurt you, my lady. Would never have forgiven myself."

"Shh, now. I am perfectly safe."

"I promised him. You'd never come to harm as long as I breathed." 

"I know. I know. I have always had the best of care, thanks to you and Lenora. I appreciate it more than words can express."

Lenora put one hand on Benny's shoulder, and offered the other to pull him to his feet. "Come along, now. I think you need a drink to set you right. We will let Cecilia tend to Dean." The two shuffled out into the hallway, their footsteps echoing toward the kitchen.

Cecilia shut the door and placed the candle on the table before approaching the bed slowly. "Dean. Is it all right if I sit next to you, or would you prefer I stay over here?"

"Here. With me. Please." Dean's breaths were still ragged, and he ached to feel her soft touch. He shouldn't feel this way, she was too far above him, her hands were too good for the likes of him. But he wanted this above all things, despite what he knew. 

She sat down on the bed, slowly, and waited a moment before speaking. "Dear, is it all right if I touch you? I don't want to frighten you." 

Dean's voice hitched, and he almost couldn't answer. "Always all right for that. To touch me. Whatever you wish."

She huffed. "It's not about what I want, Dean." But she put her hands on him, and he nearly sobbed with relief. Under Cecilia's hands, he was blessed beyond measure. She rubbed his upper arm, careful to avoid the wounds on his back. "I am sorry about the nightmare you had. After such a trying day, I hoped you could rest well." 

"It was nothing but a dream. It wasn't real."

"But it seemed real at the time."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to quiet his breathing. What if she asked who this Sam was, and why the dream upset him so? If he had to talk about Sam, he felt that his mind would bend beyond repair. He had to keep those thoughts carefully stored away for now. He prayed that she would not ask, pleading with God so fervently that his lips moved without him realizing. Please, no. Please, no. Please. 

She saw, and patted his face gently until he opened his eyes. "Dean. I cannot know or appreciate what you have been through, but I can promise that while you are within these walls you shall always be safe, and cared for. If there is anything that may help you, in body or mind, I want you to ask for it. Food when you are hungry, another blanket when you are cold, medicine to relieve your pain. Company when you feel alone. I know that such things are small in comparison to your suffering, but you have only to ask, and they will be given to you."

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice. Cecilia looked at him for a few moments, her eyes concerned, and he saw a tear fall. She wiped it away quickly. 

"Damn, damn, damn," Cecilia chanted under her breath, startling him. "Dean. If this is not acceptable to you, please tell me so, but your pain is so loud that one could hear it from a mile away."

"What..." Dean was interrupted by Cecilia climbing up on the bed, in nightgown and bare feet, and lying on top of the covers next to him. She opened her arms, and Dean instinctively nestled into her body. She laid one hand on the back of his head and petted his hair softly.

"Is this all right?"

"No." He felt her stiffen, and hurried to explain. "It is a cool night. Your feet are uncovered, and you'll be chilled. You must have a blanket as well."

She laughed and rolled out of bed to pull another blanket from the wardrobe. "If you insist. I will admit that I probably would have wished for a blanket later, and I wouldn't have wanted to wake you so that I could fetch one." She spread the blanket over her side of the bed, and arranged Dean in her arms again. "Are you comfortable?"

Dean snorted. "That's a ridiculous question. I am probably more comfortable than I have ever been, thanks to you."

"All right, then. Sleep now." She replaced her hand on the back of his head, and placed the other on his hip. 

"What if Lenora catches us like this?"

"I would hope that Lenora is more open-minded than to chastise someone for comforting a person who needs it."

"What about Benny?"

She laughed. "You are afraid of Benny?"

"Any sane man would be. But he would give his life for you, and I like him because of that."

"Benny is family. He served with my father during the war, years ago. He and Lenora are the only family I have, other than my cousin."

"He loves you."

"And I love him. But not in the way I suspect that you mean."

"Are you sure?" Dean envied Benny because he was with Cecilia all the time, and able to protect her from harm. How could the man not be in love with her? 

"Benny doesn't like women that way, dear."

Dean shifted so that he could look into Cecilia's eyes. Surely she was joking about such a thing. "What?"

"Oh, don't look like that. You know what I'm speaking of, and it's not a bad thing. What does it matter whom a person loves, as long as they treat each other well and are happy?"

Dean was growing sleepy in spite of himself. "That makes sense."

"Of course it does, love. Now, close your eyes and don't be afraid of going to sleep. I am here to protect you. No nightmare will dare to go past me."

"You're kind. Never met anyone like you."

"I've never met anyone like you, either. In the circles I travel in, one meets mostly idiots. There, you smiled. I intend to make you smile at least five times tomorrow. You have been too sad for one so brave and determined."

"Now you're not making any sense at all."

"I make perfect sense. Now, I'm going to sing you to sleep. My mother sang this when I was very young, and while she had a better voice than me, I'm the only one who remembers this now."

Cecilia's voice may not have been as awe-inspiring as the choir singers he'd heard at church, but it was sweet and soothing. She sang about lying in bed, listening to rain pattering on the roof, and knowing all was well. While he listened and drifted, Dean felt that he, too, could be well. He could become strong again, and find family, and know peace once again. 

His eyelids were so heavy.

He could start tomorrow. The tide would turn then.

Cecilia kissed his forehead at the very second he slipped away into rest. For months afterward, he would think that he had dreamed it.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally getting better for Dean--he is recovering from his physical wounds, and becoming more comfortable in his new home. But he can't hide from his past forever...

To Dean's surprise, things got better from then on. For a few more days, he was often tense, waiting for the tide to turn, but nothing bad happened. 

He was able to rest, as much as he wanted. Cecilia brought him food often, feeding him when he was too weak to manage it himself. The pain eased a little, day by day. Dean had long thought that physical pain would be a permanent condition in his life, and the idea that he might have days when he wouldn't hurt gave him hope. 

Cecilia and Lenora tended to him so gently that Dean no longer flinched when a hand touched him. He was still a little frightened of Dr. Rosso. 

When he was able to stay awake for longer periods of time, Cecilia read aloud to him in her low, musical voice. She opened the window in the bedroom and had Benny push the bed up to it so that Dean could see sunshine, and clouds, and stars at night. He felt in his heart that the fresh air was making him stronger. Soon, his infirmities would fall away, and he would emerge a better man. 

The milestones came slowly. First he was able to sit up in bed, propped on pillows; a few days later he stood, leaning on Cecilia's arm. From there he progressed to walking, a few steps at a time. The two of them took trips up and down the hallways, she pointing out portraits of her ancestors.

"This one here--the blonde woman with the half smile. She's Lady Mirielle. A hundred years ago, her husband died. As the lady was forty-two at the time, it was expected that she would spend the rest of her days in mourning. Instead, she wed a twenty-two year old nobleman and proceeded to scandalize the entire city with their public displays of affection. The union produced a son--my grandfather, Sir Michael."

Dean laughed with delight. "So you come by it honestly."

Cecilia feigned disbelief. "And what do you mean by 'it', my good man?"

He blushed. "Not that, my lady. Just that you do not seem to dwell on what others think of you."

Cecilia winked at him. "On the right we have Sir Michael himself. He was obsessed with astronomy, and the room up in the tower was dedicated to stargazing..."

Once Dean was able to walk reliably by himself, Lenora set him up in a small bedroom down the hall. He knew it was the right thing, but he missed Cecilia terribly. His new room had a window looking out into the gardens, a bed which was small but comfortable, a chest of drawers, and a chair. They were riches that Dean had never expected to have for himself. Lenora brought him a few sets of clothing and a new pair of shoes, which looked so fine to Dean that he was afraid to wear them.

When Cecilia found out that he could read, she brought him a stack of books and placed them on the dresser. "You can borrow these and see if there is anything you like." Dean was dumbfounded. Books were precious items, and to have several to choose from was unbelievable. Cecilia questioned him gently on his reading preferences, and he found himself telling her how his mother had taught him to read when he was very young. 

"She loved books, although we had few. Later on, when I worked at the monastery, they had many books, so I tried to read as much as I could. I did not have much time to look at them, though. I was never as good at reading as..." Dean stopped suddenly, and Cecilia didn't push him to say more. 

He spent the next couple of weeks sleeping, reading, and watching the activity outside his window. He joined the rest of the household at meals. Dean was shy at first, and tried to figure out his place in the bustle of the dining room. Catherine, the cook, took him under her wing and introduced him to some of the others. He was most impressed with Victor, who was from a faraway country Dean had never heard of. Victor was quiet and serious, and Dean found it soothing to be around someone who did not expect small talk. Sometimes even simple pleasantries exhausted him.

"I am in charge of the gardens here," he told Dean proudly. "We grow different vegetables and herbs than in my home country, but Lady Cecilia is trying to obtain seeds of some of the crops I used to grow there. She is open to new ideas."

As good as all these things were, Dean lived for the evenings. After supper, when the house was quiet as all its inhabitants prepared for sleep, he would wait, sitting cross-legged on his bed, for Cecilia. She insisted on changing his bandages daily, and had told him that the evening time would be best. She would be less likely to be busy, and he would be able to sleep in clean bandages. 

She would slip quietly into the room, carrying her basket of bandage materials, and usually a warm drink for him. She washed his back with cool water, examined it carefully and reported the progress to him, and dressed the wounds again. Cecilia was the only person who touched him now, and he would close his eyes each time to savor the feeling. He almost wished that he would be slow to heal, so that he could continue to have this blessing for longer.

Two weeks after Dean had come to Cecilia's, Dr. Rosso deemed it time to remove the stitches he had placed. Fortunately for Dean, the doctor needed to be on his way for another call, so Cecilia removed them. She made him lie on his stomach for the process, and patted his shoulders when he became tense. "This will not hurt anything like putting them in," she reassured. "It will pinch a bit, maybe. But I will be as careful as I can."

She was, of course, excruciatingly gentle, and Dean almost fell asleep under her care. When she finished, she placed a soothing concoction on the irritated skin, and had him sit up to be bandaged once again. "The wounds that were stitched are healed, but the ones that had to be left open will take a little longer. I have a cream that will reduce the scarring, and I will start applying it every day."

Dean hardly cared for that; he had been badly scarred even before the incident with Crowley's men. But if it meant more time with Cecilia, he would accept anything. The cream turned out to feel cool and wonderful on his skin.

"Would you like to tour the gardens tomorrow? That is, if you feel like walking that much."

"I'd like that very much. It would be nice to be outdoors again."

"Until tomorrow, then." 

The next day was bright and clear, and Dean felt so jittery at breakfast that he could barely eat. Catherine fussed over his poor appetite, and promised him apple pie at dinner.

Cecilia was wearing a light blue dress, and a large straw hat that dwarfed her face. Dean's heart caught in his throat. She always dressed rather simply compared to other upper-class women he had seen, but the lack of frills on her clothing suited her. 

"Dean! How are you feeling this morning?"

"Very well; and you?"

"Oh, I'm fine." She brushed off the question. "Now, if you become fatigued, you must tell me right away. There are many trees on the grounds, and we can sit in the shade and rest."

They stepped out onto the grounds, and Dean was enthralled by the scents and sounds. While he had usually worked out of doors as a slave, he was most often digging or carrying heavy objects. All he had been able to hear were the grunts of his fellow workers and the shouting of the overseers. The sweet air and birdsong took him back to his days at the monastery.

Victor approached them and Cecilia greeted him by an unfamiliar word. Seeing Dean's confusion, Victor explained that it was his real name. "When I came to this country, someone changed my name to one that everyone could pronounce. Lady Cecilia is the only one who tries to say my original name."

Victor took them from plot to plot, pointing out the different plants and estimating when they would be ready for harvest. One bed near the kitchen door consisted entirely of herbs for cooking, and another contained healing herbs, a few of which Dean was familiar with. "The monks used these to treat the sick, but I do not recognize the rest."

"From what I have heard, we have the biggest collection of medicinal herbs in this country," Victor said proudly. "I myself do not know much about their use--that is Cecilia's purview. I merely care for them."

"They thrive under your care much better than they would under mine."

Despite his interest, Dean was becoming fatigued. To his surprise, Cecilia seemed tired as well; her breathing was quicker and her face was slightly pale. He hesitated a moment before offering his arm for her to lean on. Her face brightened a bit, and she shyly wrapped her arm around his. Dean's heart beat loudly, echoing in his ears, and he felt tender and solicitous toward her. 

"My lady, it is a warm day. Perhaps we could sit and rest a moment?"

She sighed with evident relief. "Thank you, Dean. I'm sorry; I'm supposed to be taking care of you. I've never taken the heat well, I'm afraid. It tires me out."

"There is no need to apologize, Cecilia. After all you have done for me, I am happy to do some small thing for you." He eased her down on a wooden bench under the shade of an oak tree. "Could I bring you a drink of water?"

"I'll have some when we get back to the house. Please, sit with me for a bit." She patted the other side of the bench, and Dean hesitated. He wasn't sure how close to her he should sit. He finally decided on a safe two feet. After a few minutes, he was relieved to see the color returning to her face. 

"Perhaps after you are fully recovered, you might enjoy caring for the gardens. I think you and Victor would work well together, and he could use the help."

Dean's heart leaped in his chest. He thought that he would like nothing better in the world. He could be outside in the fresh air, do useful work, and he would get to see Cecilia often when she visited the herb garden. It was perfect. 

But reality was edging into Dean's pleasant thoughts, and he knew that after all Cecilia's kindnesses, she deserved his honesty. He cleared his throat and braced himself.

"My lady, after I am recovered, I cannot stay here." The unwelcome words hung in the air. Cecilia's face looked blank for a moment, then she met Dean's gaze. Her eyes looked bereft, which surprised him. He had expected polite disappointment and nothing more.

"I am sorry that you will be leaving, Dean." She bit her lower lip and let out a small sigh. "Is there a particular reason you are going?"

Dean sat silently for what felt like an eternity before he was able to make his lips say the word. It came out quiet and hoarse.

"Sam."

Cecilia nodded. They sat for a while longer before she turned to face him. "Dean." Her voice was hesitant, as if she expected rejection. "Can you tell me about Sam?"

Dean looked away from her to hide the the dampness in his eyes. "Sam's my younger brother. He may be in trouble, or he may be...dead. I don't know. But I can't rest until I know, and help him if I can."

"Start from the beginning, Dean." Cecilia's voice was quiet but reassuring, and she reached over the space between them to place her hand on Dean's.

Dean took a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write for some reason! I've only been able to get through a couple hundred words at a time. Maybe because I've been tired from work, or maybe because the next chapter has been clearly outlined in my head from the start and I really wanted to skip ahead to that one!
> 
> I've gotten some really nice feedback about the story, and I appreciate it so much. If you like it, please take a moment and tell me. It'll make me very happy!


	6. Chapter 6--Dean's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shares his life story with Cecilia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is a really depressing chapter. I kinda made myself sad while writing it. But it's necessary, because this is Dean's history. Please check the updated tags before you read it.

"I was born in Medina to John and Mary Winchester. It's a small port town--do you know it?"

"I've passed through there. It's a lovely place."

Dean nodded. "My father was a shipbuilder, so we lived in comfortable circumstances. He was well-known in the area because none of his ships had ever faltered. It was said that any ship he built was incapable of sinking.

My mother was the only surviving child of her parents. They educated her more than was usual for a girl of her station, but it was not due to any ideas of equality on her father's part. Rather, he had a deep mistrust of his fellow man, and wished for his only daughter to have enough knowledge of the world to be able to protect herself if need be.

He was not overly fond of my father, but my parents were happy in their marriage. My father doted upon Mother, and gave her any luxuries that he could afford. My father was a bit stern with me, but my mother more than made up for it. She was beautiful and patient and good. 

When I was four, my brother Samuel was born. My father was often away from home on buying trips for lumber and building supplies, and before he left he would tell me I had to look after the both of them. 'You are the man of the house while I'm away,' he'd tell me. 'I'm depending on you to keep them safe.' So, I felt responsible for Sam from the time he was a baby."

Cecilia pursed her lips. "An unreasonable expectation for a child."

"Perhaps. But I loved Sam more than life itself, so it was not a burden to me. For the next four years, we were very happy. My mother taught me to read and do arithmatic, my father taught me to build things with wood, hammer, and nails. Sam and I played near the seashore, as children do.

When Sam was four and I was eight, my mother became with child again. She claimed that she knew the baby would be another boy, and she would name him Adam. During her pregnancy, my father had to take a trip up the coast. My mother was healthy, and she was having no problems, so he did not even consider that anything bad would happen. Before he left, he reminded me again to watch over her."

"Dean." Cecilia's voice was feather soft, and Dean rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

"The day before he was due to return, my mother became very ill, and started to miscarry. She told me to take Sam and run to our neighbor's house for help. The doctor was called in, but the bleeding was too severe. She died that evening."

Cecilia gripped his hand tight. "Oh, Dean."

He nodded and swallowed over the lump in his throat. "I managed to get through the night because of two thoughts. Firstly, that I had to stay calm because Sam needed me. Secondly, that when my father got home, he would take care of everything.

He arrived the following afternoon, whistling as he walked up the front steps, and his face grew dark when he saw the neighbors waiting for him in the sitting room. He knew immediately. I waited for him to comfort us, but instead he took me aside to interrogate me. Had I let her carry anything heavy? Climb too many stairs? Did I not fetch the water bucket for her as he had instructed me to do? Had I let her carry Sam to bed the night before?

None of these things had happened; I had looked after her and Sam just as I'd been told to do. But his suspicions were not alleviated. Mother had died on my watch, and I don't think he ever looked upon me with kindness again. That afternoon, a cold feeling crept into my chest as I understood that nothing would ever again be the same. I wanted to break, to scream and cry, but I knew I must be strong for Sam.

After the funeral, my father went back to work as usual, but at night he began to drink heavily. At first, feeding ourselves was not difficult, as the neighbor women brought meals. Later on, as my father's drunkenness grew worse, hardly anyone wanted to be seen at our house. I had to take on the responsibility of buying food at the marketplace and preparing it. Luckily, I had often watched my mother cook, and I had some idea of what to do, or we would have soon been malnourished. Still, the meals were not ideal and this further angered my father. 

I learned to make sure that Sam had eaten and been put to bed before my father arrived. If he heard my brother crying or making noise while playing, he often hit him, and I could not bear it. It was better for him to hit me, as I was older and stronger.""

Cecilia wiped away a tear, but did not speak. 

"Eventually, my father's drinking began to affect his business. He made promises which he did not fulfill, and his orders decreased. He brought home hardly any money, as he was spending all of it on drink. I scratched out a little garden plot behind our house and begged the neighbors for seeds to plant. I found that if I stood outside someone's house with Sam, both of us looking pitiful and hungry, that we would often be given a piece of bread or some other scrap. Between this and what vegetables I was able to raise, we kept going.

A year and a half after my mother died, one of my father's ships sank off the coast of Scotland. Thankfully, another ship was nearby, and all the souls aboard were saved. But my father's reputation of building unsinkable ships was damaged. I do not know if the ship sank because of my father's negligence, but everyone in town was whispering it behind his back. The more foolish among them started the rumor that my father was cursed; first his wife and unborn child, then his ship. They said that Sam would surely be next.

My father spent most of his time at home in a drunken rage. He screamed that my mother's death was my fault, and he beat me daily. When he was home, that is. Sometimes he did not darken our door for a week at a time. During these times, I would almost heal, but every time he came back meant fresh bruises. Still, I counted my blessings that I was able to keep him away from Sam most of the time. By then, he was almost six, and I had taught him to read. He loved it immediately, and spent hours with his nose buried in one of our mother's books. 

Eventually, my father came home less and less, and Sam and I settled into a peaceful routine of reading, working in the garden, and cooking. We received a rude awakening by a constable one morning. Our house and furnishings were to be sold in order to pay my father's debts. Sam and I had nowhere to go.

Some of our neighbors offered to take us in, but not in the same household. We would have been servants, not children. We likely would have not been allowed to see each other. I decided I couldn't let that happen. While the constable's men were distracted with my mother's china and silver, I packed some extra clothing for Sam and his favorite book. We left the house quietly and walked along the shore. By the next morning, I carried my sleeping brother into the another town, where we were nameless street boys, but together.

It may sound strange, but our new life was not as unpleasant as you might think. The weather in the town was mild, and I was able to do odd jobs for food. Our new home was prosperous, and the citizens were rather more generous. We slept in barns, abandoned houses, under bridges.

I was content for a while. I wanted Sam to keep learning, so we practiced reading signs in the marketplace. We attended church frequently, mainly to have a roof over our heads for a while, but the monks were tolerant of two small ragamuffins hanging about. 

One day Sam found a damaged book in the street. Some wealthy person had forgotten it in a cafe, most likely, and it had blown into the gutter. It was a book of mathematics, and Sam was fascinated by its contents. He spent hours each day teaching himself to manipulate numbers. Watching his concentration, his delight in learning, made me realize that Sam was meant for better things.

I pondered the problem for a few days. One Sunday morning, as we listened to a sermon, the solution became clear. The monastery had more books than any other place in the town. The monks occupied themselves in prayer and study, and by illuminating volumes for the nobility. Perhaps they could help us.

By this time I was eleven, and quite strong for a boy of my age. I approached Brother Thomas, who had always been friendly to us, and proposed a trade. I would work at the monastery in any capacity needed, if one of the brothers would spare a little time each week to tutor Sam. I embellished my talents a bit, telling him I was an excellent gardener and would require no training to work in the fields and gardens.

Brother Thomas could have laughed, but he was a kind man. He listened to my proposal with great seriousness, and then asked to speak with Sam. After questioning him at length, he seemed impressed with my brother's potential. He promised to discuss the matter with the abbott of the monastery, and requested that we come back at the same time the next day. 

When we returned, the smile on Thomas's face told me his answer. But it was better than I had hoped. One of the monks would spare an hour for tutoring Sam each weekday, and he would be able to read books from their collection. In exchange for my labor (and Sam's, if he was not engaged in studying), we would receive two meals each day and would be allowed to sleep in one of the cells.

'Your brother is a very intelligent lad,' Brother Thomas told me. 'It may be that he is destined for great things in the future, and I believe it to be our duty to encourage him.'

I was overjoyed, and we immediately visited the chapel to thank God for our good fortune. The food at the monastery was very plain, and the room given to us for sleeping was bare and unfurnished except for a worn sleeping mat, but our circumstances were so vastly improved that I could scarcely believe it. Sam was more excited than I had ever seen him.

And so our new life began. I labored in the fields daily, and learned about growing and harvesting an array of crops. When Brother John discovered that I had a talent for woodworking--the only good thing my father had ever given me--he started teaching me to build cabinets and fine furniture. In the evenings, Sam would teach me some of what he had learned that day. After he went to sleep, I would read the books he had borrowed from the monastery's collection.

As the years passed, Sam flourished. He learned poetry, mathematics, literature, and the sciences. I labored in the fields and in the the woodworking shop. It was hard and tiring, but it was clean and honest work. When Sam was in his late teens, the brothers took me aside to discuss sending him to a university. While it was indeed rare for a person of our station to attend, it was not completely impossible. If we could find a wealthy patron, and Sam could work while studying, it might happen. Brother Thomas thought he could recommend him for a job in the university library, since he was already experienced in cataloging and caring for books. 

I was nearly bursting with pride that Sam had done so well, but at the same time I was frightened. We had always been together, and I had always watched over him. I did not know what I would do when he left to be on his own. 

A few weeks after the discussion with the monks, Sam and I were coming home from the marketplace, where we had been sent to sell some of the extra produce from the gardens. It was approaching dusk as we walked down the secluded lane at the edge of the city. When I saw the group of men ahead, I gestured to Sam that we should hide in the bushes to avoid being robbed of the money. We had already been spotted, however. Unfortunately for us, the men were not robbers, but slave traders. Two strong young men were worth a great deal in the slave market, and though we fought, we were greatly outnumbered. That night we sat in chains in a rat-infested outbuilding, helpless. There was nothing we could do. Before dawn, we set out from the city that was everything we knew, and held everyone who knew us.

I still held out hope that Sam and I could stay together. I whispered to him that first night that if we moved quickly and spoke little, we could avoid being beaten. And so it was, until we passed into the city of Lawrence. A man came to the market searching for a man to work in the stables, and he laid his eye on Sam. My brother stayed quiet and stared at the ground while the money changed hands. I, however, begged the man to buy me as well. When he declined, I went into a frenzy, fighting the guards and screaming like a man possessed as Sam was taken away.

I was beaten badly that evening, and from then on I was marked as a troublemaker. No slave who had behaved in such a manner would be sold to a respectable household. Instead, I was used for those who needed short-term hard labor. I passed from place to place, harvesting crops, building roadways and bridges, and digging ditches. Before long, I could not keep track of where I was, nor did I care that much to know. I spent much of the time in chains, and was fed little.

I bided my time, knowing that one escape attempt was all I would get. The night before we met, I judged the situation to be as near perfect as I could expect. As you know, I was unsuccessful."

Cecilia clutched his hand for some time before she spoke. "I know it was difficult to tell me these things, Dean. But you are very brave. And very eloquent." She smiled at him, although her eyes were teary.

"My story is all I have. When I was laboring in the fields, or trying to sleep while chained to a wall, I would tell it in my head, over and over, to keep myself from going insane. I have had a great deal of practice." Dean gripped her hand as if it were a lifeline. "I have to try to find my brother, Cecilia. I know he may be beyond my reach. But I cannot live knowing that he may be suffering, especially while I live in luxury. I will look for him the rest of my days, until I find him or learn his fate." 

"Dean. I understand your determination to look for your brother. Were I in your situation, I would do the exact same. But if you leave to look for him on your own, I fear greatly for you. Your body is weakened and cannot stand such arduous travel. And while I would gladly give you money and supplies, it is likely that you would be attacked or killed by a highwayman for these things. Not to mention that there would be nothing to stop the slave traders from kidnapping you again. Your chances of reaching the city itself are small, and if you did, you do not have the resources to search for Sam and rescue him."

"I know all this. But even though my chances are small, I must try."

"Of course you must. I only wonder if you would allow me to help you."

Dean's eyes stung with tears. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course I would, Dean. What kind of a person would I be if I didn't try to help you?"

It was the second time she had asked him this question. Dean was overwhelmed, and leaned forward to sink his head into his hands. "I don't know what to say."

"I have an acquaintance from Lawrence. He was raised in the upper classes of the city, and he would be likely to know anyone in the area who could afford to buy a slave. We could start our search there."

"It may be that he is dead, Cecilia."

"It may be. But the people of Lawrence tend to be a bit more progressive, Dean. They are more likely to treat their slaves well, and a young man as intelligent as Sam may well be valued by his owner. There is a chance that he is alive, and still in the city." She ran her hand over Dean's shoulders. "This has been very hard for you, and I think it is time for you to rest. I will send a message to my friend asking him to come to us tomorrow, if he can."

Dean nodded. "I think it is time for you to rest, as well. I fear the hot weather has fatigued you."

"I do not feel like eating in the dining room, with all the chatter. I think I will have my meal brought to my room, and I can do the same for you, if you wish."

He sighed with relief. "I would like that very much." 

They walked back to the house, leaning on each other. Cecilia had him stop by a spring with deliciously cool water so that they could drink.

"Dean. I understand completely if you want to be alone, but if you would rather have company, we could eat together."

"That sounds wonderful."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecilia is as good as her word, and immediately makes begins making plans to rescue Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received some lovely comments on this series, and they are much appreciated. Thank you all for reading! There is a lot more to come.

Dean and Cecilia sat in companionable silence after dinner, watching the courtyard through the window. He was grateful, so grateful, to be able to be with another for company and yet not have to speak. He felt that he had spoken enough today to last for months. 

Cecilia had listened to his story kindly and without judgement, and offered to help him. He, Dean Winchester, who possessed no money nor belongings nor influence. He had never expected to have such a friend. 

"I have sent Henry to my friend's home with a message, requesting his presence tomorrow to discuss a personal matter." Cecilia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the windowsill. "He is a doctor who came from Lawrence to train with Dr. Rosso a few years ago. The last time I spoke with him, he was planning a trip home to visit his relatives. We may be able to combine our purposes for mutual benefit."

Mutual benefit. Dean realized that this meant that Cecilia intended to give this man money in exchange for his help. The thought of having that much money made him a bit dizzy. It had been so long since he had even had a single coin to call his own. He rose from his chair and knelt at Cecilia's feet.

"My lady, I will never in my lifetime be able to repay even a fraction of what you have done and are doing. Instead, I offer you my life, though it may be a poor reward. You will have my loyalty for all of my days. I will serve you in whatever way you see fit, and I will protect you as long as I draw breath. I swear it." He bowed his head, and his forehead brushed against Cecilia's knees.

She reached out and cradled his head gently. Dean stayed perfectly still, submitting to her hands. "Dean. Look at me, please." She coaxed him into meeting her gaze. "My dear. I ask for nothing in return. Any help I give you requires no repayment of any kind. Your life is your own, and always will be."

Dean closed his eyes briefly so that he could better concentrate on her touch. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

Her face brightened. "You can be my friend." She patted his shoulder. "Now get up from the floor, dear. It's not good for your knees."

"You have many friends, though." Dean winced as he pushed himself off the floor. Cecilia was right. His knees--and the rest of his body--were not anywhere near full strength yet. 

"Fewer than you would think. Most of the people that I call friends are more business and political allies than anything."

"Dr. Rosso is your friend."

"Very true. I am quite lucky to have him as a friend."

"And Lenora."

Cecilia laughed. "Lenora and I are family. We love each other dearly, but sometimes we irritate each other as well." She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. "Lenora is brutally honest, and she always tells me what I need to hear, but may not want to hear...you see? I'm much too sensitive sometimes."

They sat quietly for a few more moments, then Cecilia rose to her feet and offered Dean her hand. "Come, dear. I'll tend to your back and sit with you for a few minutes. We should go to sleep soon. It has been a difficult day for you, and tomorrow may be a trying day for both of us."

Dean was soon luxuriating under Cecilia's gentle hands. "You're healing quite well," she told him. 

Dean made a soft noise of disappointment, then blushed. He buried his face in the bedsheets. To his shame, Cecilia appeared to understand what he meant.

"I won't stop taking care of you, Dean, just because your wounds have all healed." She petted the back of his head. "You've been through so much, you need some extra care."

Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now get comfortable, and I will read to you for a bit if you would like."

"Please. I'd like that very much."

Cecilia tucked the blankets in around Dean, and sat in the chair next to the bed. He was too exhausted to comprehend her words, but the sound of her voice comforted him greatly. 

He dreamed of his childhood home. It was clean and well-ordered, as it had been when his mother lived. He wandered from room to room, listening to the sound of laughter. Sam and Cecilia were always just in the next room, talking with each other and calling out to him, but when he crossed the threshold, they would have disappeared. He searched the whole house, his heart in his throat, yet never caught up to them. He was out of breath and nearly sobbing when he suddenly awoke. 

Dean stumbled from his bed to the dresser, where Cecilia had left a carafe filled with water. He poured a small amount onto his hand and splashed his face with it, then drank about half of the rest. He opened the window and breathed in some fresh air.

Dawn had already come, and Dean had no desire to get back into bed. He didn't know what time Cecilia's acquaintance would come to the house, but it might be early. It would be best if he were dressed and at breakfast as soon as possible.

She sent for him at a quarter past eleven. Dean was already exhausted and jittery, having been pacing the courtyard since breakfast. "I hope I was not too forward, Dean, but I have outlined the situation to Dr. Milton. He is willing to help, so what we need now is as much information as possible. Anything that may help us find and identify Sam."

Dean nodded and prayed that his voice would not tremble. "Sam is four years younger than me, and a hand's breadth taller. He has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He used to smile often, although in his current situation, he may be more solemn. He is the smartest person I have ever met." He had to stop for a moment to compose himself.

"Your brother must be quite tall." Dr. Milton smiled kindly. "It will make it a bit easier to keep an eye out for him."

"I had a thought about that," Cecilia put in. "Lenora is quite talented at drawing, especially portraits. If Dean could describe Sam to her in detail, you could have a picture of him to take with you. If you don't know exactly what he looks like, it's possible you may walk right past him and never know it."

"I can do that." Dean's voice was stronger now. "Also, I will tell you some things from our childhood that no one else could know. Sam may be suspicious of a stranger, and you will need to convince him that you are acting on my behalf."

"That's a good thought as well. If neither of you mind, I will take my leave for a few minutes. I have some things I need to see to, and I should find Lenora to ask her help in this matter." Cecilia nodded to them both.

Dean's hands were shaking slightly as he faced Dr. Milton, but the other man was easygoing enough that Dean was soon speaking without nervousness. The doctor had come armed with a notebook, and carefully wrote down Dean's stories and descriptions. 

"You have given me some good information, Dean. I think that with this and the portrait from Lenora, I will have a chance at finding your brother."

"I am forever indebted to you, sir. Even if you do not find him, your efforts are truly appreciated."

"Do not worry about being in my debt, Dean. I will be well compensated by Cecilia. In fact, she has promised me enough money for a respectable dowry. I have been saving as much as I can, but it still would have been years before I had amassed enough for that purpose."

"Cecilia told me you are the son of a nobleman. Will your parents not provide the money for a dowry?" 

"They most likely would, if I were to marry a woman of their choosing." There was a trace of bitterness in Dr. Milton's smile.

"Ah. I see."

"I am the third oldest son of an earl. As such, it is unlikely I will ever inherit land or title. I could have stayed on my family's estate, doing my father's bidding, and being dependant on my brothers' largesse after he died. I wanted to be my own man." Dr. Milton closed his notebook and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket. "I decided on medicine as a profession, as doctors are always in high demand. When I found out that the doctors teaching at the medical school here were among the most highly regarded in Europe, I desired nothing more than to study here. I have worked myself into exhaustion over the past years, but I am finally ready to practice on my own."

"It is an impressive accomplishment."

"And it is another reason that I am indebted to Cecilia. I would not have been able to obtain such a quality education had she not founded the school."

Dean's mouth fell open. "Cecilia started the medical school?"

"Oh, yes. Cecilia and Dr. Rosso. The education for doctors in this country was quite abysmal before they stepped in." Dr. Milton looked at Dean intently. "There is much you do not know about your hostess, it appears."

"It seems there is much to know about her. We have not been acquainted for very long."

"And yet she is willing to do this for you." Dr. Milton was silent for a moment. "Cecilia is a good woman, Dean. And while she is generous with her time and money, she does not give her friendship as easily."

Dean tried his hardest to keep an expression of polite interest on his face. "We are both very fortunate to have her favor."

"What I am saying, sir, is that she takes a special interest in you. Do not cause her to regret bestowing her affection. She deserves better."

"I would never hurt Cecilia in any way."

"You may not do so purposefully, but there are many ways you could unintentionally do so. Such as running off on your own to search for your brother. You would almost certainly die or be kidnapped."

"Let me come with you on your trip, then. What better way to identify Sam than to bring his own brother along?" Dean leaned forward in his chair eagerly.

Dr. Milton shook his head. "I was waiting for you to ask, and I do not fault you for it, but it is inadvisable. For one thing, you are not healthy enough for such an arduous trip. The road to Lawrence is lonely and remote. We will be traveling light and with as much speed as possible. We cannot risk keeping company with someone likely to fall ill and slow our progress."

Dean's heart sank, and he lowered his eyes.

"Also, you must consider that this is a delicate situation. To have someone inquire among the nobility, looking to find a particular slave? It is unheard of. I can get away with it, if I am careful, because I am known to these people and my father is well-respected. You are a stranger and a former slave, and your air of desperation will cause immediate suspicion. It would be dangerous for you, and perhaps for me as well. I cannot allow it."

"I understand that, I suppose." Dean's voice was almost a whisper.

"I understand your intentions, truly. My younger brother passed away some years ago, and I would have done near anything to save him. It's why I studied medicine, so that someday I might be able to save someone else's brother." Dr. Milton patted Dean's shoulder lightly. "Maybe it will be your brother that I save. At any rate, I promise you I will do everything in my power to locate Sam." He stood and made his way to the door. "I expect we will speak again before I leave. Please let me know when Lenora is finished with the portrait."

Dean nodded wearily. "Thank you once again, sir." He was exhausted, and leaned back in his chair to rest a moment.

Cecilia found him there a quarter hour later, sound asleep. She covered him with her shawl, and settled herself on a chaise across the room. 

They both slept peacefully until mid afternoon.


End file.
